


The Sparks

by SeveralSmallHedgehogs



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Bren and Astrid happens, Bren is a class clown, Caleb's Academy Days, Canon Backstory, Fire, Gen, The Soltryce Academy, There's no real shipping happening here, Trent's Abuse will be mentioned but not shown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-20 16:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19994899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeveralSmallHedgehogs/pseuds/SeveralSmallHedgehogs
Summary: A series of snippets, from Bren receiving his acceptance letter up to the first test he ever failed.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a series of chapters that vary wildly in length. It's gonna start out with cute school friends stuff and get Worse.

The letter came in the mail. It was almost buried, actually, in the excitement of Una Ermendrud receiving a letter from her husband. The letter told her little of his whereabouts—he was not allowed to write home about military movement, after all—but it assured her that he was doing well and nowhere near the fighting with Xorhas for now. Una and her son Bren were so overjoyed that they only noticed the second letter when Una dropped it on the floor.

“Oh,” said Bren. “It’s from the Soltryce Academy.”

"Pick it up!” Una clutched her husband’s letter to her chest. “Pick it up, Bren! Read it!”

“Oh. I. Um.” Bren picked up the letter. It was thick, yellowish paper, but the contents were worryingly flimsy. Surely an acceptance would come with paperwork, wouldn’t it? Instructions? Lists? Some sort of… tuition bill?

He looked up at his mother. “I don’t want to ruin the good news,” he said.

Una’s smile softened. She reached out and put a hand on her son’s cheek. “Nothing could ruin this news,” she told him gently. “And besides, I’m sure it’s only more good news.”

Bren wasn’t so sure. He’d applied to the Academy along with two other children from the village; all three of them were from farming families in the Zemni Fields, and so the whole village had scraped together the money to apply to the Soltryce Academy. Just to _apply_ to this prestigious school.

With his mouth as dry as ash, Bren broke the fancy, bright red wax seal and opened the envelope. His fingers itched where they touched the paper, but he pulled it from the envelope and unfolded it.

“Read it aloud,” his mother urged.

He swallowed. “Bren Aldric Ermendrud,” he read off. “The Cerberus Assembly is pleased to inform you that—”

He didn’t get any further before Una threw her arms around him with a cry of joy. “Bren!” she exclaimed. “Bren, you’ve been accepted!”

“Hold on,” he protested, though he found himself already smiling. “I haven’t read the whole thing yet.”

“Well, then read it!” His mother positioned herself so she could read over her shoulder while keeping her arms around him.

He started from where he’d left off. “The Cerberus Assembly is pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum. Classes in the new year begin on… on the 20th of Fessuran, and… and the dormitories will be open one week prior to the first day of classes. Please make your way to Rexxentrum by this date.” The letter went on, but Bren was beginning to feel lightheaded and he had to stop reading. He lowered the letter. “I made it,” he whispered. “Mother, I am going to learn magic.” Saying it aloud felt as if he were already speaking spells. Warmth bubbled up in his chest, and it took him a moment to recognize the feeling as joy.

His mother hugged him closer to her chest, and Bren felt a teardrop land on his head, but he didn’t look up. He had never been comfortable with strong emotions like this. So, he just lifted his hand to his mother’s arm, as a sort of half-hug in return, and leaned his head against her cheek.

“You will make something of yourself,” Una Ermendrud told her son. “I can feel it.”


	2. Settling In

Bren had been the first to arrive in his suite. He had a _suite—_ a small bedroom he would share with another student, and a common room that connected to another room for two more students. He tucked away his meager belongings and then stood in the middle of the common room, at a loss. His mother had not come along with him—it would have been too expensive for the both of them to travel to Rexxentrum, and then for her to travel back. Not to mention how dangerous it would have been for her to travel alone.

Up until he left, Bren had been tearing through every book of magic he could get his hands on in the Zemni fields. There wasn’t a lot to be had, but he had gotten the hang of a few basic spells—first a light spell, because he had never been a fan of the dark, and with this, he would never have to light a candle again. He’d learned a simple spell for producing flame as well, hoping it could be something he could show off to the other students. To gain some respect, or make some friends. He’d been warned about how tough the Soltryce Academy was. The majority of the students here had rich parents, and he already knew he would have to fight for his place here.

His roommates did not arrive that day, or the next. But on the third day, he spotted not one, but two familiar faces at dinner in the dining hall. Immediately he took his plate over to them. “Can I sit here?” He asked in Zemnian.

That caught their attention, and they looked up. They were a girl and a boy, and Bren remembered their names even though he’d only ever heard them a handful of times from other people. But they were from his village, he knew, and that was common ground he did not have with anyone else here.

The boy looked at the girl, and the girl brightened. “Yes!” she exclaimed—also in Zemnian. “Yes, sit down! I know you, don’t I?”

“My name is Bren,” he said, taking a seat next to the boy. “You are Astrid and Eodwulf, aren’t you?”

The girl seemed delighted. “How did you know?”

“I have a good memory.” Bren started into his food. “When did you get here? Did you come together?”

"Yeah,” Eodwulf said. “Astrid’s parents are friends with mine and they didn’t want her coming alone, so my parents made me wait. We were almost late getting here.”

Just then, something came shooting down the table and Bren wasn’t fast enough to move out of the way—the bowl of cold, stale porridge hit his plate and slopped over onto his food, soaking his bread and coating his meat in lumpy sludge.

"Hey!” A boy called down the table in Common. There were several more people around him, all laughing. “You people are used to eating this kind of thing, right? Leave the good food for someone who’ll actually appreciate it!”

Eodwulf started to get to his feet, but Astrid protested and Bren grabbed his arm. “Don’t,” he said in Zemnian. “Don’t start a fight on your first day.”

“I’m not the one starting the fight,” Eodwulf growled, glaring over Bren’s head at the cackling boys down the table. He was significantly taller than Bren, though that wasn’t saying much. There was no way Bren would be able to physically hold him back if he truly went in for a fight.

“Sit down!” Astrid hissed. “You’re going to make a scene! Come on! They don’t know anything.”

Slowly, Eodwulf let Bren pull him back down onto the bench. But he didn’t start into his food again. He seemed too furious to speak.

Bren side-eyed him, and then subtly nudged him with his elbow. “Hey,” he muttered. “Watch this.”

The boys at the end of the table were getting to their feet, collecting their dishes and laughing with each other. Every couple of seconds they were throwing glances at Bren and Astrid and Eodwulf. Bren watched them out of the corner of his eye, waiting until the one who had been shouting at them picked up his plate and moved into the aisle.

Then, Bren waved his hand under the table and sent a bolt of heat into the boy’s plate. The boy yelped and dropped his dishes—plate, glass, and utensils. The plate and glass shattered on the floor, and fork and knife only added clatter to the horrific sound that brought all talk in the dining hall to a halt.

A beat later, the other students started to applaud, shouting and catcalling the boy as he gathered his things off of the floor, red-faced. He was looking around, searching for the source of the spell, but Bren was already busily eating again.

A teacher in long robes appeared over him and said something that Bren couldn’t hear over the noise, even as the rest of the dining hall settled down again. The boy muttered something else. The teacher seemed nonplussed. He gestured for the boy to follow him, and then left the dining hall with the boy trotting on his heels, head hanging. Apparently, dropping dishes was a punishable offense at this school. Even better.

Astrid ducked her head, grinning, and Eodwulf leaned over to ask Bren quietly, “Can you teach me how to do that?”


	3. A Few Bumps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which three friends deal with some bullies.

As Bren had figured, there was no shortage of bullies at the Academy. His roommates mostly ignored him, and the teachers tended to turn a blind eye. But he was fine with that, because he had Eodwulf and Astrid.

“The teachers do it to toughen us up,” Eodwulf assure Astrid after a girl cut off a huge chunk of her hair in the middle of a class. Astrid had been especially proud of her long, dark hair, and Bren had noticed her bolt from another classroom and excused himself from his own, saying he needed to use the restroom. He’d tracked down Eodwulf in the library, and then they searched a couple of Astrid’s favorite places before they found her sobbing halfway up a tree in a courtyard.

“Come down,” Eodwulf said. “It will be all right.”

“I’m not—coming down—until my _hair_ grows back!” Astrid managed between hiccups. They all knew she was being ridiculous—she couldn’t _live_ in that tree—but Bren and Eodwulf also knew why she was so upset. Everyone in the Zemni fields had longish hair, even the laborors, though they kept theirs tied up and tied back. Bren and Eodwulf both hair hair as long as their shoulders. Bren couldn’t see the extent of the damage to Astrid’s hair from the base of the tree, though he figured it couldn’t be good.

“Astrid,” said Bren. “Just come down. You can’t stay up there, you’ll miss Sylvan class.” Languages were Astrid’s favorite subject to study.

Astrid’s sobbing stopped at that, and she was silent for a moment while she considered what he’d said. Then she hiccupped. “You’re right,” she said miserably, and then she started to climb down, and Bren finally got a good look at her.

It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. It wasn’t as if she had been shaved. But it was clearly much shorter than anything people in the Zemni fields would wear. Astrid was doing her best to cover it with one hand, but there was a pretty big chunk of hair missing.

“It’s not that bad,” Eodwulf said. He’d never been very good with words. Astrid looked at him and sniffled, and he looked at his feet.

“Come on,” said Bren. “We can get it fixed up, at least.”

"We’ll get in trouble for missing classes,” Astrid pointed out.

“We can handle a little trouble.”

There was a woman near the Academy who cut hair for a living—Bren thought it was strange, but apparently city people cut their hair often enough for her to make some decent money. They headed into the small shop and found it pretty much empty, since it was the middle of the day and most people who would come in here were at work. The woman looked up from her book and arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you three supposed to be in classes right now?”

Bren looked back at Astrid, who had shrunk back now that they were inside. Then he looked back at the woman and said in Common, “I want to, uh, to cut my hair. I have money. How much does it cost?”

“If I’m just trimming the ends to keep it neat?” the woman asked. “Only a few coppers.”

“No, I want it short. Like the other students wear it.”

Eodwulf’s eyes widened, and Astrid actually gasped. “Bren,” she said in Zemnian. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“I’ve been meaning to,” he replied. “It’s all right. We’re in this together, after all.”

The first few times the scissors closed, Bren couldn’t keep from twitching. He’d always hated the sound of his hair being cut. It gave him goosebumps on the back of his neck.

And then it was finally over. His head felt cold, and he only managed to glance at himself in the mirror before he got to his feet, thanked the woman, and brushed a few stray hairs off his shoulders. “There,” he said in Common to his friends. “And if I decide I do not like it, I can just grow it out again.”

"You next, dear?” the woman asked Astrid, not unkindly.

Astrid swallowed, and then slowly nodded and took a seat.

By the time the woman was done, the floor was covered in red and brown and black hair. Eodwulf had gotten his hair cut as well, though only a little bit. He’d kept it long enough to tie back. “I just can’t cut it short,” he told Bren and Astrid, ashamed. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Bren patted him on the shoulder.

Astrid had stopped sniffling, at least, although her eyes were still red. Her hair was almost as short as Bren’s, and though he wouldn’t have said it out loud, Bren thought her new haircut looked nice. Now really wasn’t the time.

They returned to their school, and Bren and Astrid were each given three hours of work in different places around the Academy, to be completed within the week, as punishment for leaving their classes. Since Eodwulf hadn’t been in class, he only got one hour of detention for leaving school ground unpermitted.

This wasn’t the only bullying they were subjected to. People whispered about Eodwulf and pulled pranks behind his back, since he established early on that he was not one to mess with directly. An older student tried to haze him sometime during the first week, demanding that he pick up a stack of books the other student had deliberately pushed out of his hands. Eodwulf had picked up a book off the floor and hit the other student so hard he dislocated the boy’s shoulder. He did not get in trouble, since no teachers were around to see it.

Astrid had to deal with a lot from other girls, especially after her haircut. She took to wearing clips in it. Her mother sent her some hairpins with small ceramic flowers attached. Astrid was so happy she nearly cried. She never really caught the girls who were being so awful to her—she only overheard rumors and mean comments and could never find the sources. So, she did her best to ignore them and focus on her work.

Bren mostly kept his head down, and he got a lot of flack for always having his nose buried in some book or another. There were _so many_ books here. He read during every spare moment he had—at meals, in his room, and sometimes even during class, when he was supposed to be paying attention. He got detention more than once when a teacher caught him with a book open under his desk. Sometimes he snuck books into detention and read there.

At some point, one of the boys from the first day must have figured out that it was Bren who heated up the plate. Or maybe it was just coincidence when, as Bren was taking his dishes away with his friends, he felt his plate burn his hands.

He dropped it, and the plate and glass shattered on the floor. There was no food on it, but the noise it made was spectacular.

Immediately the applause and catcalls started up, and Bren spotted the group of boys snickering to each other. He wished he knew a stone-to-liquid spell so he could sink into the floor and just stay there. Astrid and Eodwulf had stopped up ahead and were coming back over to help clean up, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything about the humiliation.

Standing there, Bren remembered something his father had told him in a letter before he came to school. This kind of thing happened in a lot of places, apparently—Academies, taverns, and even the military mess halls. The best response when people applauded, Leofric had told his son, was to just take a bow.

So, Bren folded his arm over his chest, threw his other arm out to the side, and dipped into a bow worthy of theater. He knew his face was as red as a strawberry, but as he straightened and turned and bowed again in another direction, the catcalls turned to cheers, and even the laughter felt like it changed. A couple of students rose to their feet and whooped.

Bren finished his bows and found himself grinning. Astrid was laughing for him, and even Eodwulf had cracked a smile. But it didn’t last; a shadow fell over them. Bren looked up to find one of the teachers standing there, frowning. Bren swallowed and crouched to quickly gather up his things.

"Go on,” he told his friends from the floor. “I’ll be fine.”

They looked at each other, and then went.

Bren finished gathering up the largest broken bits and gingerly got to his feet, not looking the teacher in the eye. “Come with me,” the man said, and turned and walked off between the tables of still-murmuring students. Bren could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he mutely followed the teacher to a trash bin, where he disposed of the broken pieces. Then they headed towards the door.

But then, at the doors to the dining hall, Bren paused and turned. And he gave one final, dramatic bow.

A wave of laughter swept over the hall.


End file.
